Holy Sonnet 10: Death, Be Not Proud
John Donne
1572 to 1631
Track 1
Reconstruct the poem by dragging each line into its correct position. Your goal is to reassemble the original poem as accurately as possible. As you move the lines, you'll see whether your arrangement is correct, helping you explore the poem's flow and meaning. Take your time, enjoy the process, and discover how the poet's words come together to create something truly beautiful.
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And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;